and I shall perceive nothing of the sun, even when he gains his meridian height.”  “And thou despicable wretch, is this thy shallow plan?  And what dost thou think to do with me?  Mountains shall sooner bend their lofty summits to the earth, than I will ever waste a thought on thee.”  “Do with thee, my fairest!” cried the peer, “why, marry thee.  Dost thou think that the paltry Damon shall get the better of my eagle genius?  No.  Fortune now unfurls my standard, and I drive the frighted fates before me.”  “Boastful, empty coward!  Thou darest not even brave a woman’s rage.  If my hands were at liberty, I would tear out those insolent eyes.” “Go on, thou gentlest of thy sex, and charm me with that angel voice!  For though thou dealest in threats, abuse, and proud defiance, it is heaven to hear thee.”

Such was the courtship that passed between our heroine and her triumphant admirer.  They had new proceeded twenty miles, and the midnight bell had tolled near half an hour.  They had passed through one turnpike, and Delia had endeavoured by cries and prayers to obtain some assistance.  But the person who opened to them was alone, and though ever so desirous, could not have resisted such a cavalcade.  Beside this, the pimp told him a plausible story of a wanton wife, and an injured husband, with the particulars of which we do not think it necessary to trouble our readers.  They had also seen one foot passenger, and two horsemen.  But they were eluded and amused by a repetition of the same stratagem.

Delia, having exhausted her first rage and astonishment, had now remained for some time silent.  She revolved in her mind all the particulars of her situation.  She had at first considered her ravisher in no other light than as hateful and despicable, but she was now compelled to regard this venomous little animal, as the arbiter of her fate, and the master of her fortunes.  She reflected with horror, how much she was in his power, what ill usage he might inflict, and to what extremities he might reduce her.  She now seriously thought of exerting herself to melt him into pity, and to persuade him, by every argument she could invent, to spare and to release her.  “Ah, where,” thought she, “is my Damon?  Why does not he appear to succour me?  Alas, what distresses, what agonies may he not even now endure!”

Full of these, and a thousand other tormenting reflections, she burst into a flood of tears.  Lord Martin drew from his pocket a clean cambric handkerchief, and, carefully unfolding it, wiped away the drops as they fell.  “Loveliest of creatures,” said he, “by the murmuring of thy voice, the heaving of thy bosom, the distraction of thy looks, and by these tears, I should imagine thou wert uneasy.”  “Ah,” cried Delia unheedful of his words, “what shall I say to move him?” “Oh, talk for ever,” replied his lordship.  “The winds shall forget to whistle, and the seas to roar.  Noisy mobs shall cease their huzzas, and the din of